The Last Slytherin
by TheReaper0115
Summary: John Slytherin is a bad-ass. There's no other way to put it. Harry knows it, Hermione knows it, Ron knows it, and you can bet your ass that Draco knows it. But how is that supposed to help him against Voldemort? This story will follow John's first year at Hogwarts as he tries to figure out how to behave in a wizarding world that he's been cut off from for most of his life.
1. Origins of a Snake

_**Reaper: I OWN NOTHING!**_

**-o-**

Ferris Slytherin stood by the door of the family mansion, surrounded by his relatives, all of whom were powerful wizards. He watched the dark, misty driveway through the front door's window, waiting for the invasion.

Ferris was an ugly man with green eyes (the left of which was obviously blind given how dull and glazed over it was), several facial scars, greasy black hair, and two missing teeth (his left upper canine and his right front tooth). He was tall, but scrawny, and very pale.

This did not, however, prevent him from becoming the most powerful wizard in the country, even without official schooling or help from the rest of the wizarding world.

Soon enough, Mary Slytherin, Ferris's wife, came out of the hatch in the floor. After she was out, the hatch was closed, magically concealed, and covered up with a large rug by other members of the family.

Mary had tears in her eyes as she walked over to stand next to her husband. Mary Slytherin was a beautiful woman with long, blonde hair and dark brown eyes. She was thin, and a little pale, but not so much that she looked sickly. Her smile could normally light up a room, but right now, it was nowhere to be seen.

"Greg has Johnny in the basement," she said, her hand finding her husband's as she reached his side. "Once this is all over, Greg will have custody of Johnny and the entire Slytherin estate until he comes of age and gains ownership of everything himself. Greg will be able to raise him up to be a good kid.

"Good," Ferris stated, "Greg will teach him to be a fine man, so he'll be okay even with us gone. Even with all the wizard and No-Mag money our family has amassed, Greg should be able to raise him up without spoiling him. Johnathan won't become some high and mighty backstabber like what the Slytherin family is so well known for. I won't let my family go out with that as our reputation."

Mary nodded, tears streaming down her face. Then she froze. She and Ferris could both see several hooded figures in the mist coming towards the house like shadowy demons on a mission straight from Hell.

"They're here!" Ferris shouted to the dozens of Slytherins behind him in the main hall of the mansion. Everyone drew their wands and pointed them at the door.

"That loon," an old man said from behind Ferris and Mary. "I can't believe he would want us out of the way this badly. Probably angry that we've been hiding all these years without him. It's not like we ever knew about him before he was famous, though! Jokes on him, though, what with us getting little Johnny accepted into Hogwarts. I'm glad you got that message to Dumbledore, Ferris."

"I am too, Uncle Finnegan," Ferris answered. "Riddle may behave like an angry child, but he's still the most dangerous wizard alive. Hogwarts may be the only place that Johnathan can be safe."

Just then, a spell hit the door, but bounced off harmlessly.

"Alright then," Ferris said, raising his wand straight in front of him and steeling himself. "Let's stop our rambling and focus on the fact that an army of evil wizards wants to kill us right now; if we don't, then they'll easily destroy us, and I don't really want to go down without a fight!"

Finnegan was a short old man with leathery, wrinkled skin, emerald green eyes, and thin, wispy gray hair. He was a wand-maker and was considered to be the family genius.

He chuckled and said, "Sure, why not? I've lived a good life; why not go out with a bang?"

An hour later, the door was blown open and every Slytherin in the house was dead… except for one. A single boy whom the attackers did not know existed… a boy named Johnathan Slytherin…

**-o-**

John Slytherin was an eleven-year-old genius just outside of San Antonio, Texas, U.S.A. His IQ was unknown, but the paintings he had spoken to and his godfather were certain that he would change the world with the power of his mind someday. John always thought of his intelligence and his eidetic memory as unfair advantages, but he used them too often to wish for them to be gone.

He could often be found reading, honing his martial arts, or helping Greg (his caretaker and godfather) with fixing up engines; more specifically, old motorcycle engines.

John also had the looks of a true Slytherin, according to some of the pictures. He was tall for his age, with dark blonde hair that he kept at a length of about three inches and emerald-green eyes. He was tan from spending his days training in the yard, which also caused his thin body to remain quite muscular. He was tall for his age as well, making him appear a year or two older. The only marks or blemishes on him were the few scars on his hands and lower arms that came from accidentally cutting himself while working on engines.

Right now, John was reading in his family's personal library within the mansion, brushing up on some of the spells his family had made over the years.

"_Manipulatum Leashia_," he recited from the thick, leather-bound book he held.

John sat in an old chair, leaning it back on the back two legs with his feet up on the giant oak desk before him, surrounded by the fifteen foot high shelves lining the walls, each one jam-packed with books.

"So, a charm meant to ensnare a beast with a green chord from the wand," John continued. "It forcibly manipulates the body of the target to the castor's will. Looks like it's usually used on beasts, and masters of the spell could most likely use it to detain other wizards. Looks like can be used on inanimate objects as well. I like it."

Suddenly, a large, black owl swooped in through the open set of double doors and landed on the desk next to John's legs.

"Hello Grim," John greeted his pet, not looking up from the book so as to not to lose his place as the rather large bird looked around the library.

Grim had been given to John by a hooded man that had shown up at the door one day. The man had given John a basket with a blanket inside, a newly hatched bird on top in it when he answered the door.

"A gift to the Slytherin family; welcome back to the wizarding world," the man had said. "His name's Grim, and he's a Haunt Owl. There's a book in the bottom of the basket that will tell you about his species and how to care for him. Treat him well."

After that, the man simply walked back down the long driveway and Disapparated. John had simply shrugged, gone inside, and raised Grim since that day.

John shook his head free of old memories as he looked upon the giant owl, with a wingspan of about five feet, a height of about two-and-a-half feet, and a weight of about six pounds. He was shaped exactly like an overgrown great-horned owl with black feathers.

John was very fascinated by two things on Grim, however; his beak was lined with small, serrated teach and his eye color was red. In all honesty, John thought that is made his bird look absolutely awesome.

John took his feet off the desk and let the front two legs of his chair hit the floor as he sat up. He then opened a drawer in the desk and pulled out a bookmark. He placed it in the book and closed it before placing the entire book in the drawer he had just opened.

John closed the drawer back, stood up, and stretched. He then walked out of the double doors and into one of the many halls. Grim flew out right behind him before landing on his shoulder. Luckily, he didn't grip too hard, so John's shoulder wasn't cut by Grim's talons.

The Slytherin mansion was so big that it was really more of a city than a mansion, at least on the inside. Several charms had been placed on the house, allowing it to provide housing for John's entire family (before they were killed, of course).

John continued down the hall, passing several pictures with moving people in them and doors with their own addresses on them. The pictures greeted him as he passed, and he greeted them back. After sixteen minutes, John finally made it to a large, atrium-like room.

The place was huge. There were floating candles everywhere, which lit up at night, while in the day, the entire room was lit by a warm glow from the ceiling, just like right now.

In the middle of the room, a large bridge crossed overhead. This bridge had a door in the wall on each end along with simple wood railing to prevent anyone from falling. In the middle of the bridge, on both side, the railing had gates, and on the first floor beneath these gates, there were square sections of the floor with wood railing around them, big enough for six people to stand in and gates that lined up with those on the bridge.

John knew that these squares would float up at command, but he didn't need to go up right now. No, the two halls up top were not what he needed, nor were the two halls on the wall behind him, or the two halls on the wall across from him. The wall on the left had the large double doors with windows on them that led outside. However, he didn't need to go through those, either.

Instead, he turned towards the right wall and saw a set of heavy oak doors. He swept across the marble floors and headed to those doors, which swung outwards automatically as he neared them, sensing his intent to enter.

Before John now sat what would normally be a very strange sight for a pureblood wizard child such as himself; a Muggle sitting at his rather humongous kitchen table, reading _The Quibbler_ and eating grits.

"Have they got anything solid yet, or has loony old Lovegood still been chasing false leads?"

The Muggle lowered his magazine and looked at John. He had wire-rimmed reading glasses, a bare-shaved head, and a nose that appeared to have been broken on several occasions.

Gregory Jones, the Muggle godfather of Johnathan Slytherin, smirked at his godson.

"Well, while it still has a lot of bullshit stories in it from a bunch of attention whores," Greg said, "I think the guy really is about to find real evidence of nargles. A shame your family beat him to it. I mean, there are still some living in the catacombs after all."

John smirked back at Greg.

"Well good," he said. "I guess that means your favorite magazine won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

"I sure hope so," Greg said. "I have to get these all the way from the U.K., so if they just go out of business, I'll be pissed."

Born and raised in Georgia for the first fifteen years of his life, Greg had moved to San Antonio after his father had accepted a job opportunity. After that, he had ended up meeting John's father, Ferris, and saw him using magic. Instead of erasing his memory, John's father had actually befriended Greg instead. The two became as close as brothers, Greg teaching Ferris about vehicles (he was a mechanic, after all) and Ferris teaching Greg about magic (even though he couldn't use it, he was still interested).

When he was twenty-six, Greg was asked to come take care of John by Ferris, who knew he was living on borrowed time by that point. Since then, Greg had acted as John's stay-at-home godfather.

Thanks to spending so much time together, a few of Greg's traits had rubbed off on him. This included interests in mechanics and martial arts (Greg had mastered several styles throughout his life, and had taught John quite a few), plus a bad habit of constant cursing, which got him in trouble at Muggle school a lot.

Muggles were people who had no magic abilities whatsoever, which John had learned from some of the older portraits of his deceased family members, which moved and spoke thanks to magic. In America, they were usually referred to as No-Mags, but John had picked up the habit of calling them Muggles (the name used in Britain) from some of the older paintings, which were made before the family moved to America.

"So, you excited to go to Britain next week?" Greg asked.

"Why are we going, anyways?" John asked. "I thought that school was further off than that."

Not too long ago, John had received a thick yellow envelope with a letter in it addressed directly to him. It was from a magical school in Scotland that his family had helped to found known as Hogwarts. The school was apparently inviting him to study there, and while he had also received an invitation from the American wizarding school known as Ilvermorny, he was far more interested in going to Hogwarts and seeing the school that first sealed his family's name in the history books.

John had tried to go to Muggle school and act social, but for some reason, he just never fit in. So now he just sits in class, does his work, and minds his business. Other kids stopped talking to him altogether since he beat up every bully he had ever dealt with (he couldn't even remember a time before Greg had been training him to at least some degree). Beyond that, he supposed he had a rather abrasive personality. He hoped things would be different at Hogwarts.

"Well, apparently, as you're a bit of a special case thanks to your family, you'll be going shopping and everything with a member of the Hogwarts staff," Greg said.

"Oh joy," John said sarcastically. "This'll be real fucking fun."

**-o-**

"So this is the U.K., huh?" John asked.

"Yep," answered Greg, tossing aside the rotting leather boot he'd been holding. "It's a good thing that the British Ministry was willing to send us a Portkey. Getting here normally would be one hell of a pain."

John and Greg were standing in a London street square, gazing around them at the large buildings and ignoring the strange looks from the several pedestrians around them.

"These driving laws are gonna throw me way the hell off," Greg suddenly said, eyeing a car driving on the left side of the road.

"We're taking a car?" John asked, still looking around at the buildings, noticing the differences with San Antonio.

"Well, to be honest, I have no idea how we're going to reach the place, but I'm assuming-Holy hell!"

A man the size of a rhino had somehow snuck up behind them when they weren't looking and they had just turned around to find him staring down at them. His head was covered in long, black hair from the top of his head and his beard, out of which two black, beetle-like eyes peered. His unique appearance was only highlighted by the giant black coat he wore.

"Johnathan Slytherin?" the man asked gruffly, looking down at John.

"Uh, yeah, that's me," John said, raising a hand to be shaken.

The man saw John's hand, gave him a sharp look, and continued speaking rather than shaking it.

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts," the man said. "You'll be doing your shopping with me an' Harry Potter."

John recognized that name.

"Oh, hell yes," he said with a grin.


	2. Slytherin Meets Potter

John stood in the cold rain on a small island at midnight. Hagrid, as the "Keeper of Keys" preferred to go by, was standing beside him and banging on the door of a run-down hut perched on the island.

"Bloody Muggles won' open up," Hagrid said grumpily.

John inspected the doorframe and saw that it was rotting, just like the rest of the hut. He then heard faint shouting from inside.

"Who's there?" came a man's voice. "I warn you - I'm armed!"

"Threatening us for knocking?" John questioned.

"They're not the brightest lot," Hagrid responded.

From what John had been able to gather, Hagrid didn't seem to like John very much. Or maybe he just wasn't a people person. Still, John suspected it was the former as even his family's own library revealed that they had a history of being untrustworthy, backstabbing snakes. So, John was pretty sure that the downside of his family name was catching up with him.

"Want me to open it?" John asked.

"Ha!" Hagrid shouted before stepping aside and gesturing to the door. "If yeh think yeh can."

John stepped up to the door, then sent a quick and powerful side kick to the middle of it, breaking the frame and knocking it open. He then jumped to the side before looking in so that he wouldn't get shot, remembering the voice stating that it was armed.

Hagrid chuckled a bit.

"Yeh've got guts, I'll give yeh that," he said before stepping into the hut without a care.

John shrugged and followed, only to crinkle his nose at the smell of rotting seaweed once he got inside. Wind and rain came through gaps in the wooden walls, and there was a damp fireplace with only a few empty and semi-melted chip bags in it.

"Well this place is depressing," John stated simply.

There was an ancient couch in the middle of the room, on which a very fat blond boy who appeared to be about John's age sat in shock. Beside him, sitting on the sand and dust-covered floor, was a small, scrawny boy with glasses and black hair, also appearing to be about John's age and in shock.

On the opposite side of the room from John and Hagrid was a larger and older version of the fat kid, his face red and the mustache over his upper lip missing a few tufts, making him look like a deranged walrus. He held a rifle pointed right at Hagrid, but his hands were shaky.

Behind the man was a thin woman that reminded him of a dyeing crow, what with the harshly pointed features, long, sharp nose, and cold, dead eyes.

Hagrid had to stoop just to walk around in the hut, his head still brushing the ceiling.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh?" he asked. "It's not been an easy journey…"

Hagrid strode over to the sofa where the fat kid sat, obviously frozen with fear. John _had_ just kicked in the front door and allowed a giant to walk inside, after all.

"Budge up, yeh great lump," he said.

The boy squeaked, jumped up, and ran as fast as his stubby legs could carry him to the woman in the corner, who was crouching behind the man with the gun.

"An' here's Harry!" said Hagrid.

John looked back at Hagrid, who was now sitting on the sofa and making the bottom touch the floor, and noticed him staring at the boy on the floor.

"You're Harry Potter?" John asked.

The boy nodded. John stepped forward, smiled, and held out a hand to help Harry to his feet, which he accepted.

"I'm John Slytherin," John said, hauling Harry up. "It's good to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about you."

John had seen all the old news articles, all the old magazine segments, and had even read some of the books about the great Harry Potter, or "The Boy Who Lived."

Voldemort, the man responsible for killing John's family, had set out to do the same thing to baby Harry the very next night. He managed to kill both of Harry's parents, but Harry somehow survived, and Voldemort disappeared without a trace. The most powerful dark wizard to ever live, defeated by a baby.

Harry, however, appeared to be confused when John said he'd heard about him.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," Hagrid said. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

John noticed that Harry's eyes were almost the exact same color as his own, though John's were still a bit brighter.

The man with the rifle made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you both leave at once!" he said. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ya know, I thought they'd call it something different over here," John said. "I guess America isn't that different after all."

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," Hagrid said, ignoring John; he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of the man's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

The man, or "Dursley" as Hagrid had called him, made another funny noise, like a mouse being stepped on.

"Anyway - Harry," said Hagrid, turning his back on the now petrified family, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here - I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste alright."

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with "Happy Birthday Harry" written on it in green icing.

Harry stared at it for a while.

"What?" John asked. "Not a fan of chocolate? Personally, I prefer red velvet, so I don't blame ya."

Harry shook his head head and went, "No, it's just-Who are you people?"

"Well, I already told ya who I was," John said, looking expectantly at Hagrid, who chuckled.

"True, I haven't introduced meself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" Hagrid asked, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shriveled chip bags in it and he snorted. He then got up, took a step forward, and bent down over the fireplace; John couldn't see what he was doing, but he figured it would involve magic.

John was proven right when Hagrid drew back a second later to reveal a roaring fire. It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and John felt the warmth wash over him. In all honesty, the cold never bothered him, even in a heavy rain like this, but he was still grateful for the comforting heat.

Hagrid sat back down on the sofa, making it sag to the floor once more, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig of before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage.

Nobody said a thing while Hagrid was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker he had reached over and held above the fire, the fat boy fidgeted a little. The fat man said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley."

Hagrid chuckled darkly.

"Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."

"So, uh, may I ask your names?" John asked the group, feeling pretty guilty for scaring them this badly.

"No you may not!" the man answered angrily.

John simply looked at Harry.

"A little help?" he asked. "I have no idea what to call them. I mean, Dursley is their last name, right? I can't call them all Dursley."

Harry nodded, then pointed at them each and listed them off.

"That's Uncle Vernon, that's Aunt Petunia, and that's their son, Dudley," Harry said as Hagrid passed equal amounts of sausage to him and John.

Vernon eyed Harry dangerously after he told John their names, so John kept an eye on him, even while tearing through his sausages like a wild animal, finishing it in thirty seconds flat.

"I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are," Harry said.

"Oh, I'm just the heir to a very old, powerful, famous, and rich family," John said. "The Slytherin family, to be exact. I'm sure you heard all about how they were killed when I was a baby. Well, now I've come back to go to Hogwarts, the school that made them famous in the first place."

"And I'll be taken yeh shopin' so you can go there, too," Hagrid said, "you can just call me Hagrid, by the way; everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts - yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."

"Er - no," Harry said, a confused and apologetic look on his face. "I've never heard of any Slytherins or Hogwarts."

John was floored. Here before him sat Harry Potter, practically the holy prophet of the wizarding world, and he had no idea about the most famous wizarding school in the world, nor had he heard of one of their founding families, the family also responsible for opening up Ilvermorny, the family Voldemort claimed to have blood ties to and killed just before Harry's own.

"How the hell have you never heard of the Slytherin family, or Hogwarts for that matter!?" John questioned.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly.

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid, turning to stare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters, but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yeh parents learned it all?"

"All what?" asked Harry.

John was floored again.

"Wait… Harry, what do you think about magic?" John asked, hoping to God he was misunderstanding.

"You mean card tricks and stuff?" Harry asked.

John would have laughed if it was anyone but Harry Potter. Instead, he simply sat down on the floor with his legs crossed and slowly said, "Oh my God."

"Now wait jus' one second!" Hagrid thundered.

He had leapt to his feet. In his anger, he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy - this boy! - knows nothin' abou' - about ANYTHING?"

"I know some things," Harry spoke up. "I can, you know, do math and stuff."

"That's not what he means, Harry," John said. "Your aunt and uncle have kept your very life from you. They've kept you away from the world you belong in, the one that both of your parents lived in, the one that _we_ live in!"

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode.

"DURSLEY!" he boomed.

Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like, "Mimblewimble." Hagrid looked wildly at Harry, and John stood back up and looked at the boy as well.

"But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said, almost desperately. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous."

"What?" Harry asked in disbelief. "My - my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?"

"Oh my God," John said once again, running his hand through his hair and pacing up and down the cabin.

"Yeh don' know… yeh don' know…" Hagrid ran his fingers through his hair as well, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare.

"Ye don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Vernon suddenly found his voice

"Stop!" he commanded. "Stop right there! I forbid either of you from telling the boy anything!"

John doubted even he could have withstood the furious look Hagrid gave Vernon; when he spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage.

"You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" Harry asked.

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Vernon yelled in panic.

"Go fuck yourself, Vernon!" John shouted, finally losing his temper as well and causing Petunia to gasp. It was hard not too when the kid you'd idolized for most of your life was being lied to like this. "You dare to disrespect the Potters like this? If my family were still in this country, they'd have cut out your tongues for such blatant disrespect towards heroes like them!"

"An' fer once, I agree with a Slytherin," Hagrid said. "Harry - yer a wizard."

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"- a what?" gasped Harry.

"A wizard," John answered. "Ever heard of Merlin from the old stories of Camelot? Well, Merlin was a real person. If fact, he went to Hogwarts, the wizarding school for this area, and was sorted into the house of Slytherin; the house named after my family. He's one of the most famous wizards to ever live, but you may be even more so. So, like Hagrid said, you're a wizard."

Hagrid sat back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower.

"An' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once ye've been trained up a bit," Hagrid said, to which John nodded in agreement. "With a mom an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."

Hagrid reached into his coat and fished out a yellowish envelope, much like the one John had received. It was addressed to Mr. H. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea in emerald green ink. Harry stretched out his hand to take it, then opened it up and began to read it. John moved behind him so he could do the same, wanting to know if it was different from his.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE_

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment._

_Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

"Nice," John said. "It's the same as mine."

Harry just sat there, looking at the letter. After a few minutes, he stammered, "What does it mean they await my owl?"

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl - a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl - a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth, he scribbled a note that John could read upside down:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Given Harry his letter. Picked up Slytherin, too._

_Taking them both to buy their things tomorrow._

_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well._

_Hagrid_

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down while John tried not to laugh at the strange, open-mouthed expression Harry was giving him.

"Wizards in this country use owls as messengers," John explained. "Some countries have other types of messengers, but it's almost always birds, and owls are the most common."

Harry quickly shut his mouth and nodded.

"Where was I?" said Hagrid, but at that moment, Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"He's not going," he said.

"Why not?" John asked. "What do you have against him going? What could we have possibly done to make a Muggle like you hate Hogwarts?"

"A what?" Harry asked.

"A Muggle," said Hagrid, "it's what we call non-magic folk like them."

Then Hagrid turned to John.

"I was told yeh call 'em somethin' different in the States," Hagrid said with a raised eyebrow..

"No-Maj," John said. "That's what a Muggle is called in America, but some of the older family portraits in my house, as in the ones of my British ancestors, got me into the habit of saying 'Muggle' instead."

Hagrid nodded and said, "That's it. Anyways Harry, it's just your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!"

"You knew?" said Harry, looking at his uncle with shock evident on his face yet again. "You knew I'm a - a wizard?"

"Knew!" shrieked Petunia, and John suddenly realized that his comparison of her to a bird was wrong; at least birds made beautiful noise. Petunia just sounded like a toad dying and nails on a chalkboard mixed together. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that-that school-and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was - a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that; they were proud of having a witch in the family!"

She stopped to draw a breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. So John sat quietly and grabbed the empty and quickly cooling teapot, pulling it close to him.

"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as - as - abnormal - and then, if you please, she went and got blown up and we got landed with you!"

Harry looked like he was about to say something, but John, still holding the tea pot, ran forward and got a jump off of the back of the couch towards the Dursleys.

He hit Vernon over the head with the teapot, knocking him aside thanks to the unexpected jumping attack. After that, he started beating Petunia with it while she crouched, covered her head, and screamed for help.

"DON'T EVER-INSULT-THE POTTERS-IN FRONT-OF ME-AGAIN!" he shouted between blows.

Hagrid grabbed him by the back of his shirt with one hand and lifted him up before setting him back down on the other side of the room after the last blow. John was still kicking and shouting profanities at the family while Hagrid did this and held him in place. Vernon finally managed to pick himself off the ground with his stubby limbs and shunted his family into the bedroom behind them before closing and bolting the door.

When they were gone, John calmed down enough to take in his surroundings once more, his breathing still a bit heavy.

Harry was staring in total shell-shock and Hagrid was doing a poor job of trying not to laugh.

"Well, Slytherin, that does it," Hagrid said, clapping him on the back and almost knocking him over, "yer the best Slytherin I've ever met by far!"

"Thanks," John mumbled, embarrassment at losing his temper now flowing through him. He looking down at Harry, who was still sitting, and rubbed his neck. "I'm, uh, sorry about attacking your family. It's just that… well, your parents are kind of heroes to me, and they died the same way mine did, but with no one helping them at all. They stood up against a threat unlike any other several times, and gave their lives for you. My family numbered in the thousands, but they were still slain, and your parents still stood up to the man responsible."

Harry seemed perplexed by this statement.

"But… my family died in a car crash," he said.

John almost physically staggered.

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up with raw rage. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!"

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious. John understood why.

"I never expected this," he said, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harry, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh - but someone's gotta - yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin."

John placed a hand on Hagrid's arm, earning his attention.

"I think it would be best if I told him," John said. "I know just as much as everyone else, and I'm in a similar situation as him."

Hagrid nodded and sat back down. Harry looked expectantly at John as he sat down right in front of him.

"First of all, Harry, there's something you should know before everything else," John said, "like mine, your parents were murdered."

Harry's eyes went wide, but he said nothing.

"Now, a lot of the details are unknown about both of these tragedies, but yours is the most mysterious."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that anyone who physically saw what happened didn't live to share it," John stated seriously. "He killed hundreds, if not thousands of wizards in person, even more if you count those who were murdered by his followers or died on his orders. Speaking his name is considered a social taboo."

"Why?" Harry questioned.

"Because people are still scared. He turned to the dark arts at a young age apparently, but his reign of terror began much later and took off like a rocket. His name was Voldemort, and the world has never seen anyone as dark or evil as him."

At Voldemort's name, Hagrid flinched. John ignored it.

"It was about twenty years ago that he first started taking on large amounts of followers. It was rather easy for him, if the records I've seen are accurate - fear, greed, hate; all of these things led people to follow him.

"This made things very difficult as people didn't know who to trust. You couldn't walk in the street without passing one of his secret followers. It was a takeover of the wizarding world.

"Of course, there were individuals who stood up to him, such as your parents. And he slaughtered them all. One of the few safe places left was Hogwarts. Ironic, given how close it was to where he first started picking up followers, but most speculate that Voldemort wasn't prepared to face Dumbledore, headmaster of the school. After all, the last sociopathic wizard was beaten by Dumbledore, and while he wasn't anything like Voldemort, Dumbledore was still recognized as a force to be reckoned with, even in old age.

"Now, the Potter family had already become famous," John said, "as faces of freedom and hope. They had faced Voldemort and lived, though they never won, and they weren't his targets in those battles. Three battles against one of the strongest and most evil wizards to ever walk the face of the earth.

"Unfortunately, ten years ago, on Halloween, the very night after my family was slaughtered, Voldemort showed up in the village where your family was hiding. He went to your house and, well, killed both of your parents."

Harry appeared to be a bit downcast at this, but still curious, so John continued.

"The confusing part is that he tried to kill you, too," John stated, "or at least that's what's been speculated. That's how you gained the supposed scar on your forehead. You survived the killing curse, which has never happened before. It left the mark of evil on you, which is much better than what could have happened.

Harry touched the spot on his forehead where his scar supposedly was, thought John couldn't see it thanks to his bangs.

"He leveled your house, killed your parents, but couldn't kill you. It's what makes you famous to us. He set out to kill some of the best wizards and witches of that day and age, and he succeeded every time until you came along. After he tried to kill you, he simply disappeared without a trace, ending the reign of evil he had held.

"After that, Dumbledore had you sent to your only living relatives, which would turn out to be a mistake, if you ask me. You became famous quite literally overnight."

"So, you said Voldemort disappeared?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," John answered. "The same night he tried to kill you, which is what really makes you famous. He was getting stronger and stronger with each passing day, building up his power at an unstoppable rate, and then he vanished. Why would he do that?

"Some say he died, some say he went into hiding, but I doubt either of these stories. There would have been no point. He didn't need to hide from anything, and there was nothing there that could have killed him. Honestly, I think he finally screwed up and lost his power because he got too cocky. Most people think the same as me.

"Whatever it was, all the signs point to it being something about you, Harry. I have no idea what it was, and neither does anyone else, but everyone's still thankful for it. I mean, my family hid me because Voldemort had no idea that I existed, but Voldemort knew about you and you were in your crib. Your survival is incredible."

Harry stared at a pile of dirt on the floor for a while. After a few minutes, he finally looked up at John and Hagrid.

"I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

John shook his head while Hagrid chuckled. Self-doubt was not something John was used to dealing with as he'd always been "one cocky son-of-a-bitch" according to Greg, so he decided to let Hagrid handle this one.

"Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"

Harry turned his head and stared into the fire. Slowly, he began to smile, and when he once again faced them, he saw Hagrid beaming while John gave him his own crooked smile.

"Weird how shit happens, huh?" John asked. "I once managed to make my godfather float to the ceiling when I was having trouble with my kicks. When he fell back down, he broke his arm. I felt like a jerk for a week, but he was proud because it was the first time I'd ever shown magical talent. I was six."

Harry laughed a bit at that, but then raised an eyebrow.

"Kicks?" he asked.

"Yeah," John said. "My godfather's name is Greg, and he knows several styles of martial arts. He's a Muggle, so instead of teaching me magic, he started teaching me things like karate, muay thai, and Brazilian jiu jitsu."

Harry nodded in understanding.

"Well, it's gettin late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that."

He pulled a folded up fur blanket from within one of the pockets of his coat and tossed it to John. He then took off the coat and threw the entire thing to Harry.

"You two can kip under those," he said. "Don' mind if the coat wriggles a bit, Harry; I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


End file.
